University of Virginia Library

One cold November morning,
All gay companions scorning,
A pensive cricket sought
In melancholy thought
His woes to stifle.
“Alas! alas!” cried he,
“Ah woe, ah woe is me!
I really do not see
Why I should be
So melan-melancholy. Ah me!
Let's see.”

He thought, and thought, and thought,—
That cricket did.
“It is not love nor care,
That fills me with despair.
My chirp is sharp and sweet,
And nimble are my feet;
My appetite is good,
And bountiful my food;
My coat is smooth and bright;
My wings are free and light,—
Then ah, and oh, ah me!
What can the matter be?”
Long time the cricket sighed,
And muttered low: “Confound it!”
Then joyfully he cried:
“Eureka! Oh, Eureka!”
By which he meant, “I've found it”—
The learned little shrieker.
“It is—ah well-a-day!
Because my girl's away,
My nimble, dimble Dolly,
My cheery, deary Polly.
Oh, queen of little girls!
I like her sunny curls;
I like her eyes and hair,
Her funny little stare,
Her way of jumping quick
Whene'er she hears me click.
She's loving and she's neat,
She's spry and true and sweet;
And though I caper free,
She never steps on me.

“Kee-nick! kee-nick!
Ker-tick! a-tick!
And now the thought has come,
To-morrow she'll be home!
My Polly, Polly, Polly,
My nimble, dimble Dolly!
I'll dance to-night
In the bright moonlight,
To-morrow I'll see Polly!—
Tra la! How very jolly!”

Next night the house with pleasure rang;
For Polly-girl had come;
The cricket on the hearthstone sang,
And home once more was home.